


knight in shining speedo

by icygrace



Series: Reezy Knows Best [3]
Category: Olympics RPF, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Future Fic, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:36:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icygrace/pseuds/icygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidfic! Ryan puts on his dad hat and tries to keep a secret from Michael. </p><p>Also, Missy is maybe actually the devil.</p><p>A follow-up to just you and your hand tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	knight in shining speedo

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks in advance for reading :) Feedback much appreciated!
> 
> Part of my olmpickids 'verse, as are my other kid fics, which I'm still getting caught up on posting here. Hopefully the tags now work properly.

  
When Ryan walks into the kitchen, the boys are sitting on the island, even though Michael’s told them a million times not to. They’re making quick work of their drinks (Gatorade for Oliver, milk for Charlie) and the plate of cookies between them.  
  
(Snickerdoodles. Which, they _better_ not have eaten the whole fucking batch; he _just_ made them when he got home.)  
  
Typical. Except –  
  
“What _happened_ to you?”  
  
Oliver sits up, surprised. Which is good, because he’ll actually – “Charlie –”  
  
“Nothing,” Charlie cuts in loudly over Oliver.  
  
“Yeah-huh. Tip your head up,” Ryan orders.  
  
“I –”  
  
Mike’s usually the one that handles this stuff, but the boys . . . well, he’s got a feeling this maybe isn’t the kind of thing they’d want to admit to Michael. “Charlie.”  
  
Charlie huffs, but does as told.  
  
(If only the twins listened that easily. Nathan _really_ needs to write a book on raising your kids to, like, behave like they’re supposed to.)  
  
Some bruising on the jaw. “Now down.” Cut above the left eyebrow. “To the left.” Nothing. “To the right.” Ryan reaches out and runs his fingers over the reddened skin around Charlie’s eye. Then he presses down, just a little.  
  
“Ow, _shit, fu_ –!”  
  
“So that’s nothing?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Or what, you walked into a door?”  
  
More silence.  
  
“Somebody jump you?”  
  
Still nothing.  
  
“You can tell me and I can clean up that cut and give you some ice or you can just explain this to your mother.”  
  
“It’ll bruise up anyway.”  
  
“It’ll bruise up worse _without_ ice.”  
  
“And probably Coach is gonna call anyway.”  
  
“And it’ll piss her off more to hear it from him than from you.”  
  
“So then why do I need to tell _you_ ?”  
  
“Because I’ve had black eyes and I _know_ it’ll get worse without ice. Or – hmm, maybe a steak.”  
  
“A steak?”  
  
“Yeah, you –”  
  
“That’s _disgusting_ .”  
  
“Not as disgusting as your eye’s gonna look. And I’m not taking care of it until you tell me what happened.”  
  
“You’re not my fa –” _Somebody’s_ brat is showing.  
  
“I’m not, but you showed up at _my_ house all beaten up, so I’m not gonna just let it slide.”  
  
Oliver’s been weirdly quiet the whole time, but finally pipes up. “Dude, it’s not like he’s gonna be mad.”  
  
“So it’s not even that bad, yeah?” Ryan prompts.  
  
Charlie’s still not saying anything, lips pressed together in a stubborn line.  
  
“Ols, you wanna tell me?”  
  
“I, um –” He darts a look at Charlie and shuts up.  
  
“ _Oliver_ –”  
  
“You know what, whatever, dude,” Oliver says, with another look at Charlie. “Like I thought it was awesome.”  
  
“Getting into fights –” because that _has_ to be what happened, no way would Oliver think Charlie getting his ass handed to him was _awesome_ , and Ryan has to be the “responsible adult” if Mike’s not around to do it – “isn’t –”  
  
“Is so when some douchebag on our team’s saying nasty shit about Lo and gets shut up.”  
  
_What_ ? “Nasty shit?”  
  
Dead silence.  
  
“What _nasty shit_?”  
  
Neither of them will look at him.  
  
“Like, you know –” Charlie makes hand motions that don’t really mean anything at all.  
  
“Locker room stuff,” Oliver adds. “And like –”  
  
About _his daughter_? “Fuckin’ _A._ ” Ryan doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until he feels the boys’ eyes on him. “And like _what_ , Oliver?” he snaps.  
  
“And it’s _Lo_! Like, nobody on my fucking –”  
  
“ _Oliver_ .”  
  
“On my team is gonna talk like that about _my_ sister.” Oliver pauses dramatically. “Or _do_ any of that with my sister.”  
  
Charlie coughs and they both turn to look at him. “Sorry. I just – dust. In my throat.”  
  
“So what did he –”  
  
“Like, nothing actually happened of course.” Oliver shudders. “Lo’d never give Jimmy the time of day. But he wasn’t gonna get away with even talking _hypothetically_ about _my_ –”  
  
“So you’re going on and on about ‘my sister this and my sister that’ and _he’s_ the one who got in a fight with this kid?” Ryan asks, jerking a thumb in Charlie’s direction.  
  
“I didn’t hear him. Like –”  
  
“The guys know better than to say sh – stuff like that in front of Oliver. I guess like . . . I don’t know if Jimmy didn’t think I was there. Or that I couldn’t hear. Or that I wouldn’t care. But like . . . I do, you know?”  
  
Ryan would be surprised if he _didn’t_ , to be honest. The kids have all grown up together; Charlie practically lived at their house until Missy came into the picture. And he still kind of does. Plus, when it comes down to it, Lo’s best friends aren’t her teammates or the other girls at school or from ballet; it’s Oliver and Charlie.   
  
“So you . . . punched him?”  
  
“Um, not exactly.”  
  
“Not at first. Slammed him against the lockers,” Oliver corrects. “Pretty sure Jimmy’s got a concussion.”  
  
Charlie didn’t exactly ‘fess up, but he still deserves the ice. Or steak. Whatever. Still, before he starts digging in the freezer, Ryan needs to get the rest of the story. He raises an eyebrow at Oliver. “I thought you said –”  
  
“Tim told me after he and Tony kinda broke it up and Coach came in and everything. I mean, I was there right at the end. Like, I was still in the shower when it started, but people were yelling, so –”  
  
“And you didn’t get into it?”  
  
“I didn’t know what it was about till after. I mean, I would’ve anyway, just because, like, if _Charlie’s_ fighting somebody, there’s gotta be a good reason. But if I’d known, I _definitely_ would’ve fucking –”  
  
“ _Oliver_ .”  
  
“I would’ve gotten into it, duh. Like that’s my sister, Jimmy shouldn’t even _think_ about her and _definitely_ not talk –”  
  
Ryan would really, really rather not think about the kind of shit that gets said in locker rooms because it’s _his daughter_ and how it’s probably worse because of cheerleading and, really, that’s on him because it was his bright idea that she – He shakes his head. “So how’d Jimmy come out of it? Besides the concussion.” He turns to Charlie. “Because you look pretty rough right now.”  
  
Oliver’s clearly about to speak, but he closes his mouth so fast Ryan can hear his teeth click when Charlie glares at him.  
  
Ryan tries the raised eyebrow again.  
  
Finally: “I broke his nose.”  
  
“Go get the First Aid kit, Oliver.”  
  
“Popppppp,” Oliver whines.  
  
God, he fucking _hates_ being called Pop. And Oliver knows it. (For all that people say Oliver’s like him, Oliver’s really just as much like Michael. _Trolls_ , both of them.) “I’m not getting it. Charlie just punched some tool out for talking out his ass about your sister today. He’s not getting anything. _Move it_ .” Oliver makes a face and just sits there.  
  
Ryan turns back to Charlie. “How’s your hand?”  
  
“Hurts.”  
  
And looks a mess. “So some ice for that, too.”  
  
“That’d be good.”  
  
“And some Advil, Oliver,” Ryan finishes pointedly, staring his son down until he gets up and walks out of the kitchen.  
  
Once he can hear Oliver walking – no, stomping – up the stairs, Ryan clears his throat. “Charlie?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“If your mom asks – or your dad – I never said this.” He waits.  
  
“Said what?”  
  
“If you tell them, I’ll deny it till the cows get back,” he insists.  
  
“I actually think it’s till the cows _come_ _ho_ –” Charlie shakes his head. “OK.”  
  
“Good job, kid.”  
  
“Um, thanks?”  
  
“And one more thing – don’t mention this to Michael, OK?”  
  
(Ryan barely survived the aftermath of Lo making the cheerleading squad.  
  
But Michael actually being proven right about horny little shitheads checking out their daughter because of it? Ryan’s right hand will fall off before Michael gets over _that_.  
  
His left, too, if he gets the hang of it.)  
  
Charlie nods and Ryan claps him on the back before opening the freezer to dig out the steak and ice.  
  
All in a day’s work.  
  
\---  
  
Ryan’s barely just gotten Charlie set up – kid’s holding the steak to his eye (making sure not to touch the disinfected and newly-bandaged cut above it) with his left hand, while the right one’s iced – when he hears someone opening the back door.  
  
(The one that opens right into the kitchen.)  
  
All three of them jump.  
  
Fuck, Michael and Lo _cannot_ be back yet. Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_.  
  
Why can’t Lo suck at golf as badly as Oliver does? That would’ve given them more –  
  
Oh, it’s not them. Thank Jesus.  
  
It’s just Missy.  
  
Who immediately drops the plate of cookies – _snickerdoodles_ , the sneak – in her hands at the sight of Charlie.  
  
_Shit_ .  
  
“Why are you holding a steak against your eye?” she asks calmly, with just a thin note of anxiety in her voice.  
  
Charlie’s good eye is wide open – just like his mouth. His mother is obviously the last person he expected to see just then.  
  
“He’s uh – he’s got a shiner, Miss.”  
  
“Oh my God, you’re not supposed to put steak on a black eye! That’s a myth, Ryan! It’s really, really bad for you; actually, you could get sick or get an infection, because of E.Coli. You’re supposed to put ice on it! Oh my _God_!” OK, now she sounds like a mom. “Give me that, honey.” As soon as Charlie hands it over, she dumps it in the trash, then washes her hands in the sink.  
  
“You just threw a way a perfectly good steak, Franklin.”  
  
“What, you were going to eat it after he’s had it on his eye for God knows how long?”  
  
“Only like five minutes,” Charlie corrects.  
  
“Five minutes too long. I’m going to wash that off you, I really can’t believe – I’m going to go get some soap and –”  
  
“Oliver, get soap and a washcloth.”  
  
“Pop –”  
  
“ _Oliver_ .”  
  
“Would you mind, Oliver? I’d appreciate it if you did.”  
  
“See, _she_ asks nicely!” Oliver snarks before turning to Missy. “Of course I will.”  
  
Missy starts looking Charlie over, noticing the same things Ryan had earlier, wincing at the look of his eye and the state of his hand. Except in that fussy way only moms can pull off, touching his face like it’s made of china and clucking worriedly. “At least you took care of the cut properly,” she finally pronounces.  
  
“Oh wow, I’m so bowled over by your gratitude, MJ,” Ryan retorts.  
  
“You should be _grateful_ I haven’t hit you for not calling me right away.”  
  
Missy hitting people? Not happening. “I _literally just_ finished fixing him up when you came in. Tell her, Charlie.”  
  
“It’s true,” Charlie mumbles.  
  
“See?”  
  
“That’s about as convincing as the time you made him tell me your gingersnaps were better than mine.”  
  
“I was _9_ , Mom. He threatened to un-invite me from _pizza night_!”  
  
“I made him tell the _truth_ ,” Ryan sniffs.  
  
“Then why did you ask Lo to _steal_ my re –”  
  
“Can we not, please? Like how am I even the most mature person in this room right now, if it was just me and Oliver, that would –”  
  
“Just give into the crazy, dude,” Oliver interrupts. “Like, I’m even gonna pretend I didn’t hear you saying shit –”  
  
“ _Oliver_ –”  
  
“About me, ‘cause like, you get a pass today.”  
  
_Fuck_ , Oliver’s going to blow the lid off this whole thing, isn’t he?  
  
“Anyway, here’s the stuff you wanted, Missy.”  
  
“Why does he get a pass today?” Missy asks innocently once she’s run the washcloth and soap under water.  
  
“Because _look_ at him,” Ryan jumps in.  
  
“I can _see_ him, Ryan,” she retorts as she cleans up Charlie’s eye.  
  
“Can you please, like, not talk about me like I’m not here? _Shit_ , fu –”  
  
“ _Charlie_!”  
  
“I’m sorry, like really, but it _hurts_ .”  
  
“Why doesn’t _he_ get full-named when he swears?”  
  
“Because I’m _injured_ .”  
  
“Yes, about that. You’re injured. How, exactly?”  
  
“Um –” Charlie hedges.  
  
“ _Oliver_ ,” Ryan hisses before his son can get any bright ideas.  
  
“No Wayne?”  
  
“If you say another word, your ass is _grounded_.”  
  
“One: unfair. And two: _hypocrite_.”  
  
“Dad’s privilege.”  
  
“Dad’s –”  
  
“Charlie?” Missy prods over the Lochte-Phelps bicker-fest.  
  
Charlie just rubs at the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable and avoiding Missy’s eye.  
  
“I can wait,” she continues patiently, rinsing out the washcloth in the sink.  
  
“I’ll put that in with the laundry,” Oliver volunteers.  
  
Clever Gator. Of course he’s helpful _now_.  
  
“You have anything to say, Lochte?”  
  
“I – um –”  
  
“Yes?” Geez, Missy’s really not letting it go.  
  
Ryan hasn’t really got a choice. “If you promise not to tell Michael.”  
  
“If I – what?”  
  
“Just please don’t.”  
  
Of course that’s when Charlie has to open his mouth. “Um, I was wondering, actually. Why would Michael . . . _care_? I mean, I get –”  
  
And of course Missy has to join in. “Yeah, why _would_ he?”  
  
And because Ryan’s not _really_ an adult all the time, he turns it on the kid. “Tell your mother why you punched Jimmy.”  
  
“You _punched_ –”  
  
“What happened to _Good job, kid_?”  
  
Little _rat_ .  
  
“ _Ryan!_ ”  
  
“I can explain. Really. Tell her, Charlie.”  
  
“Tell her what?” Oliver’s back. Clearly they’re going to have to tell Missy anyway, so _he_ can do it.  
  
“Tell Missy why Charlie got into it with Jimmy.”  
  
“ _I_ would’ve gotten into it with Jimmy but –”  
  
Ryan knows Oliver prides himself on being a good brother, but really – “Oliver, get to the point, please.”  
  
“Geez, Pop, I _am_.” Oliver rolls his eyes. “Because, like, he was talking trash about Lo. But I was in the shower and Charlie was there. So yeah. That’s why. So don’t be mad at him.”  
  
Missy doesn’t say anything for a long time.  
  
“Mom, I –”  
  
“I’m never going to be _okay_ with fighting, but . . . that I can understand.” She pauses. “So I won’t punish you, but if you ever do it again, you’ll be in twice as much trouble. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes. But . . . what about Dad? He’s totally going to freak ou –”  
  
“I think you’re underestimating your father. He’s very understanding.”  
  
“About _fighting_?” Charlie asks skeptically.  
  
“I’ll take care of it.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really.”  
  
“OK. Thanks, Mom.”  
  
“But remember –”  
  
“I won’t.”  
  
“Good. Now why don’t you boys go watch some TV or something? Oliver, can you please make sure he doesn’t fall asleep?”  
  
“I won’t fall –”  
  
“Just in case. You might be concussed.”  
  
“I’m not –”  
  
“Just in case, I want your father to take a look at you before you sleep or anything like that.”  
  
Once the boys have left, Missy turns on him. Or to him. Same difference. “Why does it matter if Michael finds out about this?”  
  
“Because – you really don’t wanna know. It’s in the _things I don’t want to hear about, Ryan_ category.”  
  
“Um – _what_?”  
  
“Because, like, Michael was so fucking pissed at me because of the cheerleading thing. Seriously, he just got over it like, _yesterday_ . And then some kid in the locker room says, like . . . _inappropriate_ shit about Lo? You know he’s gonna think it’s because of cheerleading, like that wouldn’t happen before. And I mean, it probably is. So yeah, if he finds out, I’m fucked. Or not fuck –”  
  
“RYAN!”  
  
“Sorry. But so, like, he can’t know, OK?”  
  
“I – fine. Because I don’t want to hear you complaining, because, really I _never_ –”  
  
“Great.”  
  
“On one condition.”  
  
“Whatever you want.”  
  
“You have to admit my snickerdoodles are better than yours.”  
  
_No._ “Missy –”  
  
“Do it.”  
  
“I can’t say that if I haven’t had them.” And they’re in pieces all over the floor. (Reezy 1, Missile 0.)  
  
“I thought you said you could eat off your floors.”  
  
“I’m not going to –”  
  
“I mean, I could just text Michael and –”  
  
“ _Yoursnickerdoodlesarebetterthanmine_ ,” Ryan mumbles through gritted teeth.  
  
“Louder.”  
  
“Your snickerdoodles are better than mine.”  
  
“I can’t hear you,” Missy insists sweetly.  
  
Jesus, if Missy Franklin isn’t actually the _devil_. “YOUR SNICKERDOODLES ARE BETTER THAN MINE!”  
  
(Reezy 1, Missile 1.  
  
Fuck his life.)  
  
From the living room: “No need to yell, Pop; everybody already knew that!”  
  
Fucking _Oliver_.  
  
Plus snickering from Charlie.  
  
Maybe that Jimmy kid should’ve hit him harder.  
  
But that huge fucking lie is completely worth it.  
  
So worth it Ryan has to try really hard not to do a victory dance no matter how pissed he is about this cookie bullshit.  
  
\---  
  
Except Ryan remembers something important after Missy and Charlie leave.  
  
_You just threw a way a perfectly good steak, Franklin._  
  
_What, were you going to eat it after my son’s had it on his eye for God knows how long?_  
  
Shit, _fuck_ . Mike said he was gonna put some steaks on the grill tonight for dinner. Shit.  
  
“Going to the supermarket, don’t burn the house down, Ols.”  
  
“Sure, Pop.”  
  
“For real, Oliver.”  
  
“Geez, fine. Get some Dew?”  
  
“Duh.”  
  
Michael and Lo are home by the time he gets back, but he still manages to stick the steak in the freezer before Michael notices anything off.  
  
Jeah Reezy.  
  
\---  
  
He’s feeling pretty good. Dinner was awesome, everything’s cleaned up, the kids are out – hopefully not doing anything stupid (it’s the movies for Lo and the Dwyers’ for Oliver, so how bad could it be?),  Michael has no idea horny boys _are_ ogling their daughter – which, he needs to do something about that, but not right now . . .  
  
Life is good. Time for a beer.  
  
He’s cracked a Corona open (lime slice and everything) and is sitting on the island with it when Michael walks back into the kitchen. He starts to get down – because he really doesn’t want to hear “How can we expect the kids to follow the rules if you always break them?” for the millionth time – but Michael just puts a hand on his thigh and holds him there. Which –  
  
“Where’s the fire, Doggy?”  
  
“Just didn’t wanna get blamed for Oliver being stubborn as fuck.” Really, that’s his Phelps showing, so like how fucking unfair is –  
  
“Forget it . . . you know, when the kids are away, the dads will play?”  
  
“Isn’t that shit really about mice, which, like, _gro_ –”  
  
When Michael cuts him off with a kiss, palming him through his shorts, Ryan remembers just how much he likes Mike’s definition of _play_.  
  
And forgets everything else.  



End file.
